


Three Strikes

by DarkeAngelus



Category: Marvel 616, X-Factor (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Airports, Alcohol, Angst, Break Up, Canon Gay Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Drunken Shenanigans, Explicit Language, Friendship/Love, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Marriage Proposal, New Tian, Regret, Relationship Problems, Utopia, Wedding Rings, Xavier Institute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 23:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13328427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkeAngelus/pseuds/DarkeAngelus
Summary: Sina Grace, writer of the failing Iceman series, dropped a bomb in issue #9 that came right out of nowhere: Ric and Star were suddenly "on a break". WTF? Here’s my interpretation of how things MIGHT have gone down because, lord knows, no Marvel writer will ever go into detail or explanation.





	Three Strikes

The departure details of his flight home to Mexico were folded in his back pocket and still warm from the printer when Julio Richter came down the stairs of Xavier Institute, hesitating on the landing. Everyone had gathered to throw Bobby Drake, the “original” Iceman (there were now two of them kicking around, a younger one pulled from the past, and Ric just about had his fill of time paradoxes to not even bother to try and sort _that_ one out), a going-away party as he was preparing his big move to Los Angeles. 

Rictor couldn’t really blame him for leaving. Manhattan and the surrounding boroughs were swamped with superheroes and the mansion was stuffed to the rafters with displaced mutants. Never a fan of the place, his desire to leave had been the final nail in an already-faulty coffin. It hadn’t so much as sealed it as shattered the thing to pieces. All things considered, it was a pretty apt metaphor. 

The group Bobby had been chatting with went to freshen their drinks leaving him alone for the moment. Taking a deep breath Ric straightened his spine, rotated his shoulders to loosen some of the kinks that had developed between them, and got moving. As he walked by the man, he paused long enough to drop his carefully rehearsed bomb:

“Hey, Bobby. Can’t stick around, but wanted to say Shatterstar and I have been on a break. Maybe for good. If you’re back in New York and single... hit me up.” 

The surprise was evident in the X-Man’s brown eyes. Bobby and the rest of Xavier’s original X-Factor team had rescued Julio back when he’d been a gangly teenager struggling to control his seismic powers and recovering from torture from The Right. There was more than a six-year age gap between them. Still, there was something about Julio’s dark features and Spanish accent that sent a brief flush of arousal to the kind-hearted mutant. “Of a scale of one to _flattered_ on the Rictor scale, I’m at an eight!” 

Forcing out a laugh that at least sounded real to the people around them, Ric kept up the charade and slapped him on the shoulder as he walked to the open door. “A sense of humor! I miss that.” He offered a wave and kept the grin on his face until he was off the front steps and cutting across the field to West Drive where he could hail a taxi and get away from that madhouse.  
  
He didn’t look back. Why bother? 

Shatterstar wasn’t there. 

While waiting for his flight, an unwelcome delay was announced over the speakers and he proceeded to head for the nearest cocktail lounge. By his third drink, he was casting a rheumy, forlorn eye to the entrance half-expecting, half-hoping to see Star show up; to appear in some majestic X-shaped flash of light and call out to him. To say that he missed him and wanted him to come back. There was even a part of Ric that wanted to hear an apology, but that was no good. There really wasn’t anything to apologize _for_. That was probably the worst thing about this whole mess. They had just... drifted apart. 

“Shit happens,” he muttered, upending his glass. 

“Did you say something?” asked a guy sitting nearby. 

“Just need another drink.” 

“Sure. This one’s on me.” The man, dressed in business clothes, beaconed the bartender’s attention and stabbed two fingers downwards at his and Julio’s empty glasses. While they waited, he slid into the unoccupied seat beside Rictor who tried to suppress a sigh. “My name’s Jim Willis,” he said, extending his hand. 

“Jake Murrieta,” Ric said, giving the hand a brief shake. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly went back to his old alias. Maybe out of some lingering nostalgia in seeing Iceman. Whatever the case, it was the name on his green card, driver’s license, and passport (all flawlessly fabricated by the Institute’s system) so he decided to just roll with it. Besides, the Paloma’s were starting to take affect and finally mellow him out a little. That was good. After the last couple of lousy months, he needed some mellowing out. 

“You waiting for somebody?” Jim asked when they got their refills. “Couldn’t help but notice you looking at the door.” 

Ric shook his head. “Wishful thinking. Broke up with my boyfriend. Still can’t quite shake it. Y’know?” He gave an absent wave, as if to dismiss the matter, and went back to drinking. 

Pete clinked his glass against Ric’s. Maybe in sympathy, maybe to show that he wasn’t wearing a ring. Ric figured the act wasn’t meant as purely a casual gesture, but didn’t bother to comment on it. “Relationships,” the guy muttered. “Hard to find anyone long-term these days.” 

“Uhm-hm.” 

“You two together awhile?” 

“Off and on. Yeah. A couple of years. I guess we were, I dunno, high school sweethearts.” For some reason this seemed absurdly funny and he burst out laughing. “Not that we really went to high school. It’s complicated.” 

“Yeah, most relationships are. That’s the problem. Too much drama.” 

“Man, you said it there.” 

“You have a nice laugh.” 

“Thanks.” 

A lull settled between the pair as they nursed their drinks in silence. Ric forgot about his new friend almost immediately as he tried to piece together what had gone wrong. It was hard to narrow things down to anything glaringly specific. Living together as X-Factor hadn’t helped them much with everyone tripping over each other in the small building they all shared as a make-shift home. No privacy. No security. Hell, he and Star were still trying to figure out if they were even exclusive right up to the point Mephisto blasted them into the Mojoverse.  
  
At the time, it had been an ordeal he wouldn’t have wished on his worst enemy. When they managed to make it back to Earth in reasonably one piece, it seemed to have strengthened their relationship. They went completely off the grid, teleported a gun-runner’s mansion to a deserted island off the coast of Mexico and lived together*. After a year with only a few minor hiccups, Ric was beginning to think that maybe it was time to take things to the next level. He and Shatterstar had been fucking around since they were teenagers and were grown men now. Ric had finally accepted his identity as a gay mutant and Star showed no interest in anyone other than him. Why not make it official? 

He was starting to rehearse a round-about approach to a proposal when they got the hysterical call from Layla Miller and, after that, things went downhill fast. Jamie Madrox was dead. He died on Muir Island from some Terrigen cloud that the Inhumans had released on Earth. They wanted to expand their numbers, fair enough, but it came at the expense of mutant lives. Acting like some duplicitous canary, the Multiple Man was the first X-Man struck down in brutal fashion.

Leaving their island paradise was the first of many rough patches Ric and Star would face down the line. They teleported to the Madrox farm in Kansas and retrieved Layla and her baby daughter. From there, acting on a hunch, Ric directed them to Vermont to check up on Rahne Sinclair. She had become a deacon in Reverend Maddox’s small Episcopal church after X-Factor broke up and Ric’s fears were confirmed when they got there. Rahne was consoling the man’s grief-stricken wife Susan and their adopted son, Daniel. It fell on Rictor to explain why John, a rogue dupe, had dropped dead in the middle of a sermon the exact moment Jamie Prime succumbed to Terrigen poisoning. 

It was at around this point that Shatterstar began shutting down emotionally; his default state when facing an unknown threat and the possibility of an impending battle. Ric hadn’t seen him like that during their year-long hiatus and realized that he hadn’t missed it, either. When the redhead retreated into his warrior-mode, all pretenses of emotion were put on the shelf and it made him difficult as hell to interact with. 

“We can’t stay here,” Ric said, after tracking him down to where he was standing at the edge of the property, staring moodily into the woods. “No telling if that cloud is working its way cross-country or if another one is gonna blow in from the Atlantic. We need to bounce. Muévete rápido. You catch my drift?” 

“Yes,” he rumbled, avoiding eye contact. “I’m ready for another jump. Where do we go from here?” 

“Where else?” Ric thought of the X-Mansion and, being on the receiving end of their teleportational rapport, Star brooded over the choice. “No doubt they’re already circling the wagons for a dust up with the Inhumans. They’ll probably appreciate the added reinforcements.” 

“It’s the 198 battle all over again,” Star muttered. Him, along with Domino and Caliban had been involved in an act of subterfuge at Xavier’s estate that freed the remaining mutants left on Earth that had been kept in a camp ‘for their own protection’. The situation quickly escalated into an all-out civil war in Arizona. That battle had managed to erase the last vestiges of hero worship Shatterstar ever had for the X-Men. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“Mutants are dying, Julio! We need to find my- we need to find Dazzler. Longshot is probably immune to this plague, but she is not.” 

“Star, we don’t know where she is! All the more reason we gotta go the mansion first. Besides, we have to get Rahne, Layla, and Kelsey to safety.” 

The Mojoworlder rounded on him, teeth bared. “We retrieved your pet dog as you instructed. We will now find _her_.” 

Ric recoiled as if struck. “What the hell-? I thought you _liked_ Rahne.” 

“She was always more your friend than mine,” Star said coldly. “I simply went along with things to keep the peace.” 

“Dude, this isn’t the time for some jealous goddammed bullshit!” 

“Jealous? All the chaos she has brought into our lives, interfering with our relationship, and you think I speak of jealousy?” Their shouting match was beginning to attract attention. When Rahne stepped out on the back deck, the alien pointed at her. “She is the reason we were sent back to Mojoworld. She is the reason I became the plaything of Arize. _She’s the fekting reason I had to put my infant self back into Mojo V’s ownership again!”_  

Ric wrapped his arms around his head, grappling with his temper. As it was, the ground was beginning to thrum around them as his control over his power slipped. Shatterstar never spoke about his paradoxical origin because those events right before they’d left Mojoworld so overwhelmingly affected him. He’d repressed it to dangerous degrees and it was only in moments of stress, like this one, when it became clear the wound was still glaringly fresh. Even worse, he seemed to have found a target to blame. Processing emotions never had come easily for Gaveedra Seven and there couldn’t have been a worst reminder of that fact than right now. 

And Ric didn’t handle the precarious situation well. The argument could be made that he had his own emotional shortcomings to deal with, too.  
  
Pointing a green-glowing finger at the man towering over him, Rictor shouted, “You fucking listen to me, _pendejo_! I don’t give two shits about you or Mojo. Okay? We have to get out of here _right-fucking-now_ and you’re the only one who can do it. Understand?”

Star yielded. He teleported the five of them to Xavier’s where, sure enough, Storm was preparing to go to war with the Royals of Attillan. Star, along with the other teleporters, was recruited to rescue as many mutants Cerebra could find. Longshot was at the mansion and Star chose him as an anchor, leaving Rictor behind with his friends and former teammates. By the time the two found Dazzler, it had been too late. She had contracted Terrigen poisoning and was dying of M-Pox. Star had been devastated. 

“Oh, shit. Strike One,” Ric murmured. 

“Huh?” Jim looked away from the television that was above the bar. It was a funny coincidence that it was on the sports channel and broadcasting highlights from the 2017 World Series. “You talking about Brandon Morrow? That guy has one hell of an arm.” 

“What? I wasn’t- I... sure. Morrow. Great arm.” Ric was a soccer fan and didn’t follow American sports. The answer seemed to satisfy his new drinking partner who had just paid to refill his glass again without even being asked. Jim nodded and went back to watching the TV. 

Ric went back to mentally kicking himself in the nuts. 

During the battle with the Inhumans, he and Star had barely enough downtime to fuck let alone talk. Anyway, fucking was way easier. In hindsight, he realized that they never did address the issues revealed behind Reverend Maddox’s house. In all the enfolding chaos, he had completely forgotten about it. Star, as with all things, wouldn’t have. Rictor had used him to rescue his old flame, Wolfsbane, while Star’s recently revealed mother had been poisoned. No doubt he mentally buried that grudge along with all of the other slights, resentments, and insults he’d absorbed and processed over the years and he kept that lid screwed down tight. It was how he’d managed to remain sane while being a slave of Mojo V. 

Ric could have helped him unscrew that jar and process those hurt feelings. Soothe over his fears for Dazzler. Reassure him that they were going to be okay while the world fell down around them. He never did _any_ of those things. 

Instead, he stepped back into the role of being his teleportation anchor when Hydra took over America, kicking the mutants out of New York. They settled in California and helped to create New Tian. Rictor wanted them to get an apartment together in the new city in a desperate effort to kick-start their relationship into a new gear other than the “neutral” position it seemed to be stuck in. “King” Xorn had been adamant that they remain in the royal tower along with the rest of the seasoned X-Men for swift deployment, if necessary. It was like X-Factor all over again, except that this time some of his teammates were trying to kill each other. 

Strong Guy was back and Rahne went rabid at the mere sight of him. Small wonder. The asshole had murdered her son (and to Ric, little Tier had been kind of his nephew) to become the King of Hell. Now he was back and, even worse, acting as if nothing had ever happened. Typical Guido Carosella.

Ric had Rahne’s back in the matter. Star... he really didn’t seem to care. He started to pal around with Boom Boom who, Ric was reasonably sure, had fucked Star back when she and the other mutants had lived on Utopia. It hadn’t happened the first time they visited, but Star had been sent back to collect Longshot who’d been left behind by accident. During the time it took for him to recharge, Star and Boomer managed to slip out of Rictor’s sight. When they got back, the Mexican didn’t have the nerve to accuse him of anything without sounding like a whiny bitch because, being depowered at the time, he had been bitching plenty enough already. Seeing them together again in New Tian had brought that stinging old jealousy back with a vengeance. 

“Strike Two.” 

Jim looked over at him again. “You okay? You’re looking kind of flushed. Drink too much?” 

Ric mulled it over as he swirled the ice cubes around in his glass. This was his fifth drink in less than two hours. If he didn’t start to pace himself, he was going to be crawling aboard his plane on his hands and knees. “I think I’ll try and make this one last.” 

“Sure.” 

It was a hollow statement. Less than fifteen minutes later, he was nursing drink number six. He suspected that Jim might even be doing this on purpose and had his suspicions confirmed when he felt a hand grasp his thigh. Not hard, it was more of an inquisitive touch at first, probably to gauge the reaction. Ric looked at him, but didn’t slap that arm away. Encouraged, those strange fingers slid up his jeans and grazed his crotch. 

Ric and Star tried to tackle their problems while in New Tian. Neither had the experience or the maturity to know how to deal with such personal issues so, as usual, they fell back to their old teammates for some kind of guidance. In terms of dysfunction, the pair’s track record paled in comparison to the rather spectacular clusterfucks that made up most of the other mutants’ personal lives. There was no help to be found there. To try and lighten the ever-darkening mood, they participated in a contest along with a bunch of the younger male X-Men alumni. They grew a pair of Pornstaches™ that would have made the late Freddy Mercury roll over in his grave. It was just something to do to get their minds off of what was happening in the States. Ric won the bet, of course. Hell, he’d started shaving back in his early teens. He kept it for awhile until the barbs from the others got to him and he finally fell back to his usual patented look that Monet had once dubbed “unemployable chic". 

It took Star months, but once he’d finally managed to grow the ratty thing, he refused to shave it off. It was still on his face even after the Sentinels brought down New Tian and they all relocated back to Xavier’s Institute, now located in Central Park. 

Ric hated the fucking thing and suspected that was precisely why Star insisted on keeping it. It was a passive-aggressive display of defiance borne from all of the slights Star had tolerated since they’d been forced from their Island paradise. The childish fight continued to escalate with the mustache being a convenient focal point for all the things neither man could actually put to words. 

“You know what?” Ric finally snapped in the final throes of complete and utter frustration with the large warrior. “Maybe that stupid thing can be your boyfriend, because I’ve had it up to _here_ with your bullshit.” He raised his hand to an area approximately two feet above his head. 

“It’s blissfully quiet, it feels nice, and it doesn’t piss me off which is more than I can say about _you_ ,” Star remarked blandly, arms crossed. 

“It looks fucking ridiculous on you. Look, I’ll even sweeten the pot. If you shave off _la pequeña cucaracha roja_ there, I’ll pay the deposit and first month’s rent.” 

“What are you talking about? We don’t pay rent here.” 

“Exactly. We’re _here_ ,” he extended his hands to the hallway walls. “We need to get out of this madhouse _pronto_.” 

Star was shaking his head. “Mojo now has a foothold on this world. I need to stay where I am.” He needed the protection was what he really wanted to say. It was probably even a rational answer. Who the fuck knew what Mojo was up to now that he was stranded on Earth? 

By this point, Ric was done being rational. “You wanna end it?” 

Star narrowed his eyes and he tried to process the question. 

“Us, genius! I’m talking about us!” Rictor shouted. “You wanna try and fix this shit or do you want to call us quits?” 

Star shrugged. “I thought we had already done _that_ some time ago to be perfectly honest.” The pair hadn’t been intimate in weeks and were currently sleeping in separate rooms. 

Ric threw up his arms and stomped off in the opposite direction. “Fine! Your loss, tough guy!” 

Star, now seemingly stuck in that impassive warrior-mode Julio hated so much, didn’t bother with so much as a response. 

“Strike Three,” Ric said, and suddenly leaned over and kissed Jim with an open mouth. 

The pair made it to the bar’s bathroom and locked themselves in a stall. He and Star had done this of course, back when risk-taking was still a novelty and their unbridled horniness for each other had eclipsed rational thought. It was always a rather absurd and surreal experience with Star’s huge body talking up most of the space. With Jim, who was around Julio’s height and size, it wasn’t much of a problem. 

Their kisses were the sloppy, wet and drooling licks of two drunks trying to make quick work of the situation. While their tongues quested impatiently in each other’s mouths, their hands roamed over each other. 

Jim clearly liked what he was feeling; a muscular, well-toned body that seemed to almost vibrate with need. Julio slipped his hands under the crisp white shirt the stranger was wearing and felt the body of a man who probably watched his diet and maybe went to the gym a few times a week, but there were no defined muscle groups for his fingers to grasp; just the disappointing softness of somebody who probably sat in front of a computer most of the day. 

That was the curse of having loved Shatterstar. There were few who could compete with a six-foot-three, insanely attractive alien from the future. His entire body was a road map of super-human muscular perfection. He was devastatingly handsome with riveting sky-blue eyes, thick red hair, and perfectly honed features. In the sack, he was like some insatiable well-hung stallion, capable of going at it for hours; as magnanimous with giving pleasure as he was taking it. Ric knew Star’s body just as intimately as he knew his own. 

Who could ever replace him? Who even came close? 

The fugue of Ric’s drunken lust began to fade and Jim sensed that. He popped open the fly to the younger man’s jeans and pulled down the zipper, coaxing out Julio’s half-hard cock. With impatient hands, he began stroking it until it jutted straight out, the first rivulets of pre-cum oozing from the head. Ric came around and began returning the favor until the pair of them were stroking their hard cocks together and moaning from the exquisite friction. 

Jim paused long enough to take his jacket off and tried to clumsily hang it on the hook of the door. When he forced Ric back against its surface with a desperate kiss, the coat fell to the floor and there was a tinny sound of something metallic hitting the tiles. Looking down, Rictor saw it was a gold ring. “What the... ? Hey! Hold on. Is-is _that_ what I think it is?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Jim was moving in for another kiss only to have Ric push him back. 

“Wait a minute. _You’re fucking married?”_  

Flushed and disheveled, with his cock jutting from the fly of his gray trousers, the man tried to make his pitch. “Listen. The minute gay marriage got legalized all our friends were pressuring us to do it. We didn’t want to. We just did it to shut them up. It’s an open marriage. He’s probably off banging some random from Grindr. I don’t care. It’s okay.” 

“Not to me it isn’t, you asshole.” Ric turned to unlock the door and get the hell out of there. A hand fell on his shoulder and he instinctively brought an elbow back hard and fast, clocking the guy in the mouth and knocking him backwards. The back of Jim’s legs hit the toilet and he gracelessly sat down hard, cupping his bleeding mouth. 

“Thanks for the drinks. If I ever see you again, I’ll beat the living shit out of you,” Ric said shortly and slammed the stall door closed. He staggered over to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face as he waited for his erection to fade. The room was threatening to tilt a little and he closed his eyes and tried to focus on willing himself sober. 

Jim was deciding that maybe it was best to stay in the stall. He still had enough drunken bravado to make the crack, “You’re an ungrateful prick. You know that? I’m beginning to understand why your boyfriend dumped you.” 

“He didn’t dump me!” Ric shouted back. “We’re just on a break!” He looked back at his reflection with dawning awareness. The impact of saying that aloud and actually _meaning_ _it_ this time finally hit home. He and Shatterstar were on a break.  
  
Translation: They had broken up. 

Why did that fill him with a sense of dread instead of reassurance? 

Why did he think he had made a terrible mistake? 

“Fuck,” he said, taking a long hard look at himself. He wasn’t tall, he wasn’t all that smart, he didn’t have much of a personality, and he sure as _hell_ wasn’t handsome. Take everything away and what was left? He was a gay Alpha class mutant with a chip on his shoulder roughly the size of King Kong. “Oh, fuck.” 

From the stall: “You had your chance.” 

“Shut up! I wasn’t talking to you!” He frisked around for his phone and pulled it out. Star was on instant dial, but he hesitated to punch the key as he looked down at the picture that was his phone’s wallpaper. It was Shatterstar of course. The shot had been taken back at their island home just as Star was coming out of the water from a long swim. His body had been wet and glistening, muscles clearly defined from the workout, and there was a rare grin on his face. It looked like a picture taken out of a high-end magazine that had been tweaked by Photoshop it was so damned perfect. 

When was the last time Julio had seen Star look this happy? When had he last seen him smile like this? _God, he was just so fucking gorgeous when he smiled._ Ric had almost forgotten and suddenly dropped the phone as he grappled with his emotions. He gripped the sides of the sink and there was a distinct crack as the porcelain surface buckled from a barely suppressed tremor. 

There was no way he could get on board a plane in this state. He was no longer sure if leaving the States was even a good idea anymore. Just like how Star reverted to his baseline state of stoicism in the face of combat, Rictor preferred to avoid stressful situations and that’s why he was here in this shitty airport: He was running away. From the mutant bigotry in New York. From the constant, nonsensical super-human attacks. From the over-crowded mansion. 

“From Gaveedra,” he whispered, his flushed face darkening in shame. Over a year ago, he had been poised to propose and now, here he was, standing in some airport bathroom with his cock hanging out. 

“You say something?” Jim called out from the stall. His presence was an unnecessary reminder of what the two of them had been about to do. 

Giving his head a shake, Ric pocketed his phone and was absently stuffing his dick back into his jeans as he headed for the exit. By the time he stepped through, he was zipped up and tucking his shirt in, trying to look casual. He needn’t have bothered with the sham. The bar was dark with only a few patrons hanging around and no one was even looking at him, not even the bartender. He left without anyone noticing. 

He stood in front of the terminal window for awhile and watched the planes take off and land, trying to make up his mind. When his flight was announced, he pulled out his phone again and stared longingly down at the tiny screen. His thumb wavered over the call button before he tucked it back out of sight, cursing under his breath. He ran a nervous hand back and forth through his hair, making a tousled mess of it. “¡Hijo de tu puta madre!” At this point, he wasn’t entirely sure who he was insulting anymore. 

Just as he was turning towards the departure gate, his cell phone rang. In his haste to retrieve it, he performed a frantic juggling act and somehow managed to not to drop the suddenly slippery thing. He pressed it to his right ear. “Gav?” he asked urgently. 

 _“Rictor?”_ came an unfamiliar woman’s voice he didn't recognize. 

Scowling, he looked down at his phone. _Xi'an Coy Manh? Who the fuck was...?_ And then it hit him. “Oh, hey Karma,” he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice and failing badly. “How are you?” 

 _“You sound awful,”_ she said bluntly, the words twisted by her heavy Vietnamese accent. 

“I’m having a really shitty year.” 

 _“2018 has barely even started.”_  

“Okay, _two_ years if you wanna get picky. What’s up?”

While he became engrossed talking with his old New Mutants teammate, he didn’t notice a tall man dressed in earth casuals, wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses stride quickly into the airport bar he’d left earlier. The man had been seated on the far side of the terminal holding up a discarded newspaper. The sight-line to, or from, inside of the bar would have been virtually impossible for any human civilian. 

Shatterstar wasn’t any human civilian. 

Returning from a disgusting mission in the sewers, he discovered the mansion was in a state of chaos more than was usual for the cursed place. Daken had been involved, which caused him a ripple of unease, but it was Northstar who had told him that Rictor left the mansion. When he got to his room, he found a note slipped under the door. He recognized the messy handwriting, not that there was a lot of it.

 _You want to stay? Fine._  
_I'm going home._  
_Adios pendejo._

Hacking the mansion’s computer, Star accessed Ric’s account and he confirmed where the Mexican was going. A quick shower and change of clothes later found Star at the airport in pursuit. 

He had arrived in time to watch Julio first interact then go into the bathroom with some stranger. He didn’t recognize the man and was pretty certain that Ric didn’t know him either. Despite figuring out what was probably going to happen, he chose to stay where he was and waited for an uncomfortable amount of time before seeing his boyfriend finally strut out, readjusting his clothing as he did so and looking enormously self-satisfied with himself. 

That was the moment Star forced himself to accept the reality of what Rictor was to him now. _Ex-_ boyfriend. That was the way of things on earth, yes? Dating-Fucking-Breaking up? That was why Star remained immobile in his seat even though every instinct he possessed was positively _screaming_ at him to get his _fekting_ ass moving and walk over to him and and try to set things right before the damage became irreparable. 

But he didn’t know how to fix what was so obviously broken. This wasn't a malfunctioning weapon or a sword with a stress fracture. As with all things that didn’t relate to battle, he was at a loss. With troubled eyes he watched Julio, still talking on his phone, walk away from his life until he simply couldn’t take it anymore. 

He bolted to his feet and headed straight for the bathroom and saw the man Ric had been with standing at the sink, blotting a damp paper towel to a split lip. The stranger barely had time to look up and see the fist that knocked him instantly unconscious. 

Star threw his sunglasses aside and knelt over the human, taking in his disheveled appearance, unzipped fly, and smelling Julio all over him. He also noticed another thing. Grabbing the man’s left hand, he yanked off the wedding ring that Jim had put back on after his short-lived encounter. Holding it up to the light, Star’s exceptional eyesight picked out the tiny imprint inside the band. 

“Fourteen carat gold,” he grumbled, dropping it on top of the unconscious body. “Cheap vehjka.” 

The wedding band that Shatterstar had bought in secret, and was now sitting abandoned in its tiny velvet box back in their old house, had been crafted from flawless platinum complete with a .15 carat solitaire black diamond in the setting. 

Star bowed his head in grief, struggling with his emotions. It was a lost cause and he knew it. He looked over and saw the sink with a tell-tale crack splitting its surface. With a roar of fury, he plowed his fist straight down into the sink so hard that it, and the counter, exploded. Pipes burst, soaking Jim into a semi-lucid state. He saw a towering, furious redhead standing over him and instinctively raised his hands in meager self-defense, whimpering. 

“Pathetic,” Star said with a sneer and left just as others began running in. He left a trail of blood drops from a broken hand he barely felt as he looked urgently around for Rictor. The mutant was out sight. His scent trail didn’t lead the Mojoworlder to the departure gate but to the ticket counter. For some reason, Ric was trying to get his ticket to Guadalajara exchanged to one for Alabama.** If his rising tone was any indication, things weren’t going his way. 

Star mused that he could go over there. He could go over there _right now_ and offer to teleport Julio to his mystery destination in exchange for a few minutes of rational discussion. Instead, his eyes fell to the piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of Ric’s shoe. That stopped the internal debate cold. 

With a disgusted grunt, Shatterstar left him there to continue haggling with the attendant, walking right past. Probably deliberately. 

Rictor never even noticed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *My Post-X-Factor 259 Series. Part three is in the works. 
> 
> **New Mutants: Dead Souls, a six-issue miniseries featuring Rictor, Magik, Wolfsbane, Boom Boom, and Strong Guy.  
> (By the end of the series, Ric and Shatterstar were once again an established couple.)


End file.
